I was happy in this drunken hour
by airyclaire
Summary: A frown tugs at her lips as she remembers why she isn't twirling around on a dancefloor right now. Stupid Vespers.


**title:** I was happy in this drunken hour.  
><strong>pairingcharacter:** Ian Kabra/Amy Cahill.  
><strong>prompt:<strong> whiskey.  
><strong>rating:<strong> pg13  
><strong>warnings:<strong> Slight spoilers for _Cahills vs. Vespers_. Also: fragmented writing, Vesper!Evan, underage drinking, sexual references, and minor cursing. Please do not read if any of that offends you. **  
><strong>**notes: **X-posted from Livejournal, because I thought maybe some of you would want to read it? This is only my second foray into 39 Clues fanfic (the others are on tumblr and LJ), and I'm used to doing things differently than most of you, I think, so please try not to flame me for getting your beloved characters wasted. I love them, too, ok? Right. So. Enjoy!

* * *

><p><em>I was happy in this drunken hour.<em>

_xx_

She rummages through the jacket, looking for the flask she knows Ian carries around, though she's never seen him drink out of it, and grins triumphantly when her fingers graze the cool metal – _a-ha!_

And, of course, he catches her and demands to know why she's stealing it –

She shrugs, "because I want to do something normal teenagers do on prom night, and since dancing with my boyfriend is now off the table, I might as well get drunk."

His eyebrows furrow, "what happened with Tolliver?"

"What happened with Tolliver? He's a damn Vesper, that's what happened!"

He tries to conceal his smug grin, but it's too late.

"Go ahead," she sighs, "say 'I told you so.' I know you're dying to."

"I've got a better idea," he takes the flask out of her hand and tugs her towards him, "let's discuss it over a drink."

xx

Soon, they're lying on their backs on the Widow's Walk, and Amy half-delirious with the taste of whiskey, is trying to recall all the names of the constellations above them. She tells Ian the story of Andromeda, forever chained in the sky, waiting for Perseus, but can't remember how she got that way.

"Must have been something bad," she murmurs, taking another sip of the dark liquor. Ian laughs good-naturedly at the face she makes when she swallows, the alcohol burning her throat.

"I think you've had enough for now, love." He takes a sip, too, before capping it and setting the metal holder aside.

"You look lovely, by the way," he gestures to her prom dress, a knee-grazing emerald silk ensemble.

"Thanks," she smiles wistfully, "it looks like ocean waves when I twirl..."

A frown tugs at her lips as she remembers why she isn't twirling around on a dancefloor right now. _Stupid Vespers_.

Ian tries to think of something to say to distract her, but she beats him to it.

"I was thinking of sleeping with him tonight, too…" She mutters as if Ian isn't five inches away.

"Thank God you didn't." Ian finally chokes out, head still slightly reeling from her tipsy confession.

"I almost did, though," she shuts her eyes, "but I noticed his small 'V' tattoo when he slid my dress off."

Ian's heart jumps. He thought he'd given up on his miniscule crush on the green-eyed girl, letting it fall away to leave room to simply be friends with her, but the attraction kept festering. Deep down, he'd always thought of her as _his_, even when she wasn't. The idea of someone else seeing her, _touching_ her, in ways he'd only dreamt about, made Ian's blood boil. He could almost feel the bubbling inside of him, the jealousy and anger building.

A light tap on his shoulder shakes him out of his envious haze and he turns his head towards the source.

"Ian," Amy's lips are red and her cheeks pink with the whiskey's touch, her eyes, wide and slightly foggy, are looking intently at him, "Ian."

"Yes?" He answers, his throat suddenly drying up faster than the Dead Sea.

"Is what everyone says true?" she asks, still gazing at him.

He frowns, "about what?"

"About you," her teeth dig into her bottom lip for a moment, before she continues, "and me."

Ian's expression remains puzzled and he props himself up on his elbow as he tries to determine what she means. Either the question truly doesn't make sense or he's had more to drink then he thought. He goes with the former.

"I don't understand what you're attempting to ask."

She breathes deeply and drops her gaze, "everyone says you're in love with me."

His eyes grow wide, and he immediately knows this is not the kind of thing she'd ever say to him while sober. He debates on how to handle it for a few seconds before deeming in-direct denial to be most appropriate.

"I…I don't know if I am or not," He tells her, "but I know that it's _bloody hard_ to be friends with you."

She looks back up at him, "Why? I thought we got along."

"That's precisely the point!" his voice rises slightly, "Do you know what's going through my head when you start babbling about something that I couldn't give two shits about?"

She shakes her head, eyes still trained on his.

"I'm thinking about sexy you look when something excites you. About how much I want to press you against a bookshelf and snog you senseless."

He says all this in one, vigorous breath, and prepares himself for her judgment and the embarrassment that follows, but it doesn't come.

Instead she simply says, quietly, "Why didn't you do it, then?"

He stares at her. Many answers float through his head, none seeming valid enough. He ends up sputtering out something about her having a boyfriend, to which she laughs at.

"Who _are_ you?" She smiles mischievously, "The Ian I know would never be deterred by an obstacle so small."

"Maybe I cared about what you thought," he shoots back, "maybe I still do."

Her smile falters, but she doesn't drop eye contact. There's a distinct change in the mood, which suddenly makes Ian feel like running away, which he'd never do, although having the option is nice.

"I don't have a boyfriend anymore." She states softly.

Ian blinks at her. Right. His excuse no longer applied.

"I know." He nods.

"So you know what that means?" She presses, her jade eyes hazy with the effects of the alcohol.

"Yes…" He says, hesitantly. He doesn't really understand where she's taking this.

She giggles, something she doesn't normally do, and scoots closer. Her breath tickles his ear and she whispers, "It means that I'm yours."

He smirks at her when she pulls back, "Are you sure?"

She blushes and her eyes break from his, evidence of the real Amy.

"Yes," she nods, "I-I'm yours."

She's barely finished the affirmation when he kisses her. It's nothing like their fleeting first kiss. This time it's messy, and tastes like tart liquor, but it's still wonderful. All Ian's rage toward Evan Tolliver and the Vespers finds its way into the frantic kiss and he realizes that he's pressing hard enough to feel her teeth. Amy's anger manifests itself into the tugging her hands do in his hair, her nails grazing his scalp. But neither of them care.

When they finally unwind themselves, both sporting swollen lips and flushed cheeks, Ian expects neither of them have anything left to say. But he's wrong.

"It was her mother," Amy yawns, "she sacrificed her."

"What?"

"Andromeda, the princess chained to a rock."

Ian rolls his eyes, "I cannot believe you're still thinking about that."

Amy yawns a second time and places her head on his chest, "I can finish the story now, and you can do what you do best."

"Witty commentary?"

"No," she hiccups, "think about me naked."

He laughs, and she begins the tale again, starting with Cassiopeia's boasts to Poseidon.

This time, Ian actually listens.


End file.
